


Said Patroclus' Ghost to Thetis

by Jason_Silver



Category: The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: M/M, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:15:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27248659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jason_Silver/pseuds/Jason_Silver
Summary: Just a little poem I wrote after finishing The Song of Achilles.
Relationships: Achilles/Patroclus (Song of Achilles)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 23





	Said Patroclus' Ghost to Thetis

Achilles

His tapestry is spun from olive groves and rolled in the salt of the black sea

Gold in his veins, hair of fleece, and lips of wine.

He slices through the air like an arrow from Apollo’s bow;

Precise, cunning, wind in his hair, smile insatiable

His heart is a desperate pyre ready to ignite

He is immortal in the dry heat of sand and salt that he kicks up with boyish feet

Soft face

Almond eyes

Bloodless hands

And stolen kisses that taste like mountain water.

But time dictates he is best dressed in Trojan’s blood,

Fingers dripping with it,

Spear bathed in it,

Cackling Gods atop their jaded thrones brining with delight.

I will divest him of it all,

Wash his shivering limps with kisses

Wipe away the death with a damp cloth.

His tapestry is spun with threads of war 

That earnest boy,

Trusting boy

Innocent boy, shattered by prophecy.

I have tried with clumsy hands to snip that threads which bind him to Hades,

But Apollo screamed fury and drowned me in pyre ash.

His breath is sweat like honeyed wine,

His kisses are a godless sacrifice

I can only think how wrong it is that war will twist his gold into sullied bronze.

Kiss me once kiss me thrice

Hopeless hands tug at me begging me not to go

For I must die before him.

His tapestry is spun from each of my shuttering breaths,

Each searing touch

My hands trace his skin etched in marble.

Thetis watches us,

Sinful and frantic.

I kiss him and I kiss him and I do not care.

Nearer and nearer the black sun draws

His honor brittle beneath the heat of mutiny

To kiss him now is just a plea.

War brings love of the most tragic kind

But to me his is forever immortalized in mountain tops

The crips river waters

The press of lips to mine

The color of berries

The first taste of wine.

I wear his armor

And they shout his glory

And they call his name

And all I can taste is my blood.


End file.
